


Whirlwind of Snow

by ScarletPrussia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Angst, Drug-Induced Sex, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Punk England, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletPrussia/pseuds/ScarletPrussia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a problem, he can't stay away. He should but he really can't. So when playing a gig in a bar he promised he would never return to, he indulges. He throws himself into his spider's arms, allowing it to pull him back into its web.<br/>However it's not him that suffers. Francis only wants to play the game but life doesn't work that way. It never does.<br/>UK/Fr fic with US/UK mentioned.<br/>Loosely based on Chandelier by Sia from France's perspective</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whirlwind of Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Some reader discretion is advised in this, there is drug use and slight non-con sex. There is also a relationship verging on abusive and is far from healthy. On another note, snow in the title doesn't refer to the fluffy white stuff that falls from the sky  
> So yea... enjoy and Scarlet out!

The stage was all that mattered. The crowd vibrating below him meant nothing; they were only a distraction from his truth. They demanded his attention, but none of them deserved it. None of them were worth his time. The melancholy beat reigned supreme as he was swept away by the lyrics that fell from his lips, from the enchanting, all consuming music that echoed from his guitar. They were all that mattered at that moment.  
As he sang, he was caught up in his own world, in his own high brought about through a cocktail of potent wonders. He knew he was the best and whatever got him to that point was irrelevant. The people came, they always came. They always danced and demanded more and despite his reservations, he gave in. It meant he was able to ignore reality. He was able to ignore the bone breaking cold, the thunderous all consuming tremors that seemed to threaten death with every passing day clean. Reality was a stark white being that wished to devour him whole, to steal away everything that made him solid. He was fine living in his bubble, however this only led to predators lurking in the shadows like hyenas, taunting and watching his every move.  
They lurked, or he lurked off in the distance near the grimy bar. His long blonde hair pulled into a haphazard bun as he smiled coyly at him. Beckoning him closer like the Cheshire cat pulling him closer to bliss and complete and utter destruction.  
Arthur’s eyes were locked on the tall handsome man with startling eyes like blue neon. His perfectly dishevelled white shirt made him appear like an apparition in the grungy bar. For just a split second he was snapped out of his trance, his playing faltered and voice fell flat. It didn’t matter though. His audience didn’t notice and neither did the rest of his band. He wanted to scoff at them, scoff at how perfectly ignorant they were in their own worlds when they should be devoting their time to his music. But then again, he wasn’t much better.  
Without so much as a warning he set his guitar down beside the drummer and marched off the stage, his band staring at him in disbelief as he vanished through the throng of people. He was nearing the hidden room on the far side of the bar when he heard the backup singer take over. With a smirk set on his face, he pushed open the chipped blue door to see the man sprawled out on an old green couch.  
His eyes set on the man, he remained in his spot. As the door clicked closed behind him, he slipped his hand back to lock it. To keep out more than the music it had reduced to a mere thrum. Slowly, carefully he circled the man, his eyes never leaving his as he let his arms trail across the tables and chairs. He daren’t risk another glance around the room. The first hundred times he had set foot in this room were enough.  
The walls were peeling with greying wallpaper that seemed to evaporate into smoke gave off a faint stench of loss, despair and all the other glories that could be found in such a place. As for the rest, it was so much worse. It almost made him wonder why he even agreed to play venues like this again, but then the reason came crashing back to him. Yes, he had achieved national and even global fame in the world’s leading punk band, a band that returned punk to the charts. However this did not mean he was able to escape his roots, he wasn’t able to escape the traps set for him so early on. Pulling open a small cabinet hidden away in corner, he dropped a glass on the table separating him from the other man and filled the container from a near empty bottle of vodka he found behind the glass. Swallowing the contents in a messy gulp, he gritted as the drink burned his throat and some trickled past his mouth and down his neck.  
“Are you going to stand there looking pretty all night, mon cher?” Francis asked, his eyes glimmering in mirth.  
He cast his eyes over the almost too skinny punk. If his tastefully tattered, too tight black clothing didn’t make him stand out, his muddled green hair and dark, thick eyebrows did. They were something Francis couldn’t make his mind up about. It was hard to ignore how stunning Arthur was with that perfect smile, even more dazzling scowl and bewitching forest green eyes. But those eyebrows always threw him, if anything they added to Arthur’s beauty, whilst stealing something that could have made him something else. Something breathtaking.  
Arthur didn’t answer his question, only sneered at how the Frenchman’s eyes lingered for too long on his ass. “Where is it?” he demanded, an English accent clinging to each word.  
“This?” Francis replied with a raised eyebrow and pulled a small clear plastic bag with a powder so cherished in Arthur’s eyes it made him freeze.  
Instinctively he reached out, desperate for its embrace. However it was pulled out of his reach, instead he was met with a feral grin.  
“Not yet, mon petit,” Francis teased and raised himself from the couch and stepped closer to the Brit, until he was almost touching him. “I, want you to prove how much you want it.” Each word was punctuated by a finger he placed further up the Englishman’s body, slowly walking his hand to trace against Arthur’s jaw.  
“Of course I want it, you git,” Arthur snarled at him and quickly turned to face away. He had promised himself after their last liaison that it would never happen again. The one aspect of his reality he loved was worth too much to risk. “Now if you don’t mind...” with that he reached forward to the hand Francis held the powder in but it was once again snatched away.  
“Ah, ah, ah,” Francis reprimanded, his smile growing wider with every passing second and he started trailing his lips over the invisible bristles on the Brits jaw. Relishing in the small twitches it was already forcing the Brit to emit. “I think you have already had enough tonight.”  
With that he stepped back and watched as the man focused his anger on him. He couldn’t help it, if there was one thing that always pulled him back to the Brit, it was his temper. How he could become a swirling vortex of sheer destruction then collapse, becoming putty for anyone who was talented enough to tame him. Like a lion tamer, Francis prided himself on how he could work his lion into the perfect storm.  
“What in the bloody hell do you mean that I have had enough?” Arthur screeched at him, all thoughts he had previously had of remaining calm and just getting what he wanted were gone. Now he wanted the man to suffer, to pay for holding back what he oh so desperately needed.  
“Your eyes,” came Francis’ simple answer and he took his place on the couch again, patiently waiting for his storm. The smile now etched onto his face.  
“My eyes!? Are you fucking serious!”  
Francis only watched him, letting his anger unfurl and to his eternal pleasure, it did.  
Within seconds Arthur was ripping the room apart, like a cyclone he obliterated everything in his path. Smashing already flimsy wooden chairs against the wall and table; almost splitting the wood on the table in half in the process. It only took a minute until he wore himself down and shot daggers at the Frenchman, his shoulders heaving at exerting himself.  
“Any better now?” Francis asked calmly, he dragged the bag over the top of his lips.  
Arthur didn’t hear the question, far too transfixed on his obsession.  
“I will take that as a yes.” Standing up, he straightened the broken table into something usable and set out two pristine lines.  
He barely stepped back from the table when Arthur had pushed ahead, everything else vanishing from the Englishman’s mind at the thought of the white powder. Meanwhile Francis could only watch in sheer boredom, this was something he had gotten used to. Granted it was something he was more used to experiencing first hand, but with Arthur it was different. He took far more pleasure watching how the substance fired him up, transformed him from a grumpy resolute man to something much more pliable, something he could definitely work with.  
Patiently he waited as Arthur stood up once again, the buzz taking a little longer to kick in. Francis took a note of this, he’d need more from Gilbert if he were to keep this up. Eventually the Brit turned to him, his eyes wide and a manic smile on his lips.  
“Now,” Francis started and took a step forward, “about your payment.”  
“Tch, what about it?” Arthur scoffed in return.  
He knew exactly what was expected. This was their routine. Something that happened far too often for him to be comfortable with. Something that should have made it impossible for him to go back what should have been perfection. None of that stopped him letting Francis card his hand through his spiked green hair. It didn’t make him push the other blond away in disgust. No, by now the high had consumed him and his only concern was revelling in it. With a final push, he reached forward and grabbed Francis by the back of his head and smashed their lips together in a rough, heated kiss.  
Francis grunted at the contact, slipped his lips open and grasped the other man’s bottom lip between his teeth. Clamping down hard enough to elicit a long low moan from the Brit, he grinned then forced his tongue past the reddening lips, making the other man play. Another low moan, this one needier and much more desperate.  
Arthur was getting desperate. His drug addled mind screamed at him to fuck the man in front of him, to bend him over the couch and have his way. However he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t give in just yet. That was until Francis suddenly ground their hips together.  
“Fuck,” he gasped into Francis’ mouth as he was suddenly made aware of how hard he had become in such short time.  
His previous thoughts of waiting it out were cut short, he needed Francis now and nothing would stop him. Wrenching his hands away from Francis’ now loosened golden hair he started undoing the Frenchman’s shirt. Pulling the garment back, he was stunned to see Francis let him undress him so willingly. Normally the man would never allow Arthur to roughen up his clothes, they were much too precious to the man. Now though, Arthur was almost tearing the buttons free, almost ripping the fabric in his desperation for skin to skin contact. Once happy that Francis was free from the restricting garment he soon found that he too had lost his shirt in the heat.  
Pulling away from Francis’ lips he trailed down the man’s jaw with his teeth, nipping roughly at the skin. On hearing a gasp fall from the man’s lips, Arthur furthered his efforts and quickly sucked a spot at the bottom of Francis’s neck, biting harshly as he did until a bright red mark appeared. However he didn’t have time to admire his work, as a hand found its way to his belt and slowly teased the leather away. Arthur was frozen in anticipation at what those skilled digits could do.  
Francis was getting angry; Arthur wasn’t supposed to leave a mark. That was the one rule they both abided to and he knew given how the man had bitten and the soft chuckle that followed, Arthur had broken the rule. Worse still, he couldn’t retaliate and mark Arthur as his, just like he had done so many nights before. No, if Francis were to do that now he would lose Arthur forever and that was not something he was willing to do. Suddenly an idea ran through his mind and without another second of hesitation, he reached down and undid the punk’s black leather belt then popped the buttons open. Feeling Arthur freeze, he knew he had won. Edging closer with his hand, Francis palmed Arthur’s erection once it was free from the confines of his jeans and was barely surprised to find nothing separated them. He wanted to comment on it, to bring attention to the fact that Arthur was expecting this to happen, otherwise he would never have gone commando.  
Francis’s touch was heaven, how Francis’s hand wrapped itself around his cock was divine and how he slowly rubbed a thumb over the head was indescribable. Arthur forced himself to withhold a groan at the contact. Instead, he chose to engage the man’s mouth once again with harsh bites and a desperate battle of their tongues. That was until once again the man’s mouth was lost to him and it trailed down, his tongue following a path only he knew about. Suddenly without warning, a quick, light, barely there lick flicked underneath, just enough to bring a long heady moan from the Brit’s lips. Glancing up, Francis smirked cheekily at the lidded look the other man was giving him. Encouraged, he licked again, this time dragging his tongue along the vein until he reached the head and with a final breath, he pressed forward, taking the entire appendage into his mouth.  
“Fuck,” Arthur groaned and clenched his hand into Francis’s hair, tugging harshly on the blond strands.  
Hollowing out his cheeks, Francis edged forward, slowly, slower than he knew Arthur would have wanted and given how the man was beginning to buck into him, it was bringing him to madness. After what seemed like an eternity, he was finally met with course blond hair. Pulling back, he dragged his tongue along the Brit’s length and let with a wet pop, pulled away completely.  
Arthur wasn’t happy. One minute he was in heaven, the next he wasn’t. Glaring at Francis, he pulled the man towards him and quickly undid the Frenchman’s belt and let his trousers drop. He wanted to hit the man as Francis could only smirk at him with eyes blown wide.  
Typical, Arthur thought, he just had to indulge before I got here.  
After shuffling out of his trousers and forcing the Frenchman to copy, he pushed Francis over the back of the couch and pressed his fingers into Francis’s mouth.  
“Suck,” he demanded impatiently and was happy to feel Francis oblige him.  
Before Francis was sure the fingers were even near coated, Arthur whipped them from the confines of his mouth and started the press one into him. Francis gasped at the pain that shot through him. It wasn’t much, but the lack of proper lube did not help. Without much of a warning the Brit started pumping the finger in and out harshly, making another gasp fall from Francis’s lips. Francis didn’t have time to adjust until another finger was added. The stretch was starting to get to him, however just before he could complain a sudden jolt of pleasure erupted when Arthur found that one spot. The second a small whine left his lips, Arthur quickened his pace and added another finger. This one was too much but the fact that the man kept hitting that one spot over and over again, had him stuck in limbo. The pain was excruciating but starting to ebb, the pleasure on the other hand was bringing him to a frenzy. He wanted the man behind him more than anything, but the pain was edging on these thoughts, darkening their golden glow. He didn’t have a choice though as Arthur quickly pulled his fingers free and eagerly pressed his dick against the ring of muscles. Francis was vaguely aware of the ripped piece of foil that landed on the ground between his feet.  
“Tell me you want it,” Arthur urged, his voice low and husky.  
Francis couldn’t form words. His mouth hung agape in anticipation.  
“Tell me, you want it,” Arthur growled, now leaning over him, his mouth too close to Francis’s ear.  
“Yes, yes I want it,” Francis whined and gasped as the Brit plunged balls deep inside.  
Arthur stilled for a moment, allowing himself to adapt to the tightness that he never had the privilege of feeling from the blond. Letting the thoughts slip from him mind, he pulled out until only the tip remained then forced him back in, this time aiming for that one spot. If he was going to ride out his high in such pleasure, he might as well pay the man back in some form.  
Francis was once again torn. Arthur’s dick was a lot thicker than his fingers and stretched him almost too far. The thought alone that Arthur was now in charge almost made the man come and he was relishing in it. That was until Arthur found that spot again. Francis couldn’t help the near scream that escaped his lips. With that the pace was hastened and he was unable to stop the noises fall from his lips. He was nearing heaven and given the quickening grunts coming from Arthur, the Brit wasn’t far behind him.  
More and more pleasure riveted through his loins until suddenly a flash of light sparked across his sight. Seizing up, he clamped his muscles around Arthur’s girth and faintly heard the man grunt before stiffening up.  
They got dressed in silence, neither daring to make eye contact. That didn’t stop Francis from looking across the room at the punk. That didn’t stop his heart from panging ever so slightly when Arthur picked up his phone only to call someone else. That didn’t stop him listening to Arthur’s cheerful conversation to the person down the other line, nor did it stop him following the man outside afterwards. Francis could only stand back and watch as Arthur jumped into a red mustang. He could only stand back and watch as the Brit with the spiked green hair and stunning green eyes kissed the man driving the vehicle. That man, the man he had come to know and loath as Alfred F. Jones was forever taunting him in his dreams. They walked different worlds. Francis the dark dirty underbelly that no-one wanted to see, Alfred, the bright, shiny world that allowed him to arrest the dwellers of the underbelly with merely a badge.  
With that thought Francis retreats into the shadows, his thoughts on how he lost a near addict to a cop. Once inside the bar, he allows the bright stage lights to engulf him and a smile from a tanned man with green eyes pulls him back into the world he knows, the only thing he feels comfortable in. He knows why he lost Arthur and he envies him, Francis can't escape.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be part of a bigger fic I want to start so there will be future content on this relationship and how it plays out. I don't know how long that will take, but it will happen  
> So thank you guys for reading and have an awesome day!


End file.
